Constellation
by Phoenix Serapha
Summary: Chronicles Andromeda's final year at Hogwarts, her courtship with Ted, and her last year as a member of the Black family. Will also include events of the HPera.
1. Chapter 1

Notes: This story is the product of the advice of a friend, who suggested that, since I wouldn't shut up about my ideas for the courtship of Andromeda and Ted Tonks, I should just write them down. This is the first multi-chapter fic I've done in several years. Chapter titles will be kept simple and to the point. I will also try to keep the chapters themselves short and to the point to make it easier for the reader to find a good stopping point (unlike in my previous multi-chapter fics, which featured 30-page chapters). The story will concern Andromeda's final year at Hogwarts but will periodically feature "interludes" taking place during the Harry Potter era, so just watch the dates at the start of new chapters. I'm trying to keep everything as close to what we have as canon as possible, including dates for Andromeda's life. I want to present her as still being part of her family superficially but having a great deal of internal doubt. All comments are welcome and appreciated, and if you have any questions, feel free to ask and I'll try to get back to you as soon as I can.

For further enticement, the following characters will feature throughout this story: Andromeda Black, Ted Tonks, Frank and Alice Longbottom (prior to their marriage), Narcissa Black, Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix Black, Rodolphus Lestrange, Rabastan Lestrange, Sirius Black, Regulus Black, Walberga, Orion, Alphard, Cygnus and Druella (Rosier) Black.

Chapter 1: Boarding

_August, 1970_

Andromeda Black was not beautiful. At sixteen she had yet to develop what she felt would be a desirable body—she lacked both the voluptuous qualities of women in the magazines that sometimes circulated through the boys' dormitories at night and the lean, toned physique of one of the girls on the Quidditch teams. Her hair, like her mother's and her mother's before her, was black and long and without much curl. Her eyes were unremarkably dark. The sharp features of her family were written on her face but she lacked the grace to wear them properly—her eyes were too large to seem beautifully haughty like Bella's, her nose not quite thin enough to look elegant, and her lips were constantly pulled in an expression that made her look uncertain rather than severe. When she smiled a single dimple appeared in her left cheek.

She attempted to make up for her physical shortcomings with material additions. Her dresses—always the rich, dark colors that her family prized and that so complemented her complexion—were kept perfectly clean and she was sure to never miss a button or leave a ribbon untied, and she maintained her school robes similarly. What little jewelry she wore was polished to a brilliant shine; if a diamond or gemstone went missing from a ring, she simply discarded it. She kept the front of her hair pinned back with a large emerald barrette, a gift from her mother when she had been placed in Slytherin House. She alternated between a pair of sleek velvet shoes and impeccably shined boots.

Because of her elaborate tastes in clothes and accessories, she boarded the train carrying much more than was typically allowed. The Black girls had always carried some luggage aboard—after all, their mother reminded them every year, there were no standards for the men who would load their trunks and bags onto the train, they might be Mudbloods or even Squibs and might do any number of unspeakable things to a pureblood woman's personal items—but for her seventh and final year Andromeda had brought enough dresses and books to clothe and educate a small army. She was saved from embarrassment only by Narcissa, now entering her fifth year, who dragged aboard half her worldly possessions, requiring half a compartment for them alone.

"Put your things in with mine," Narcissa called behind her, accidentally pushing her last trunk into Andromeda's ankles. "I'll have Lucius move them." By this, of course, she meant she have Lucius order one of the Slytherin underclassmen to drag the luggage into the compartment, and God help the poor boy who stacked the bags clumsily.

She stopped in the aisle, pressed up against a compartment door to allow other students to pass. Behind her, Narcissa refused to budge an inch. The older ones, those familiar with her temper, moved around her with a forced serpentine grace.

Lucius turned up after several awkward minutes. His pale hair had been tied back with a leather cord and a fine sheen of sweat stood out on his forehead. As a prefect, he had been charged with shepherding first-year purebloods back and forth to their compartments to prevent them from mingling with genetic inferiors.

"Andromeda." He took her hand and kissed the back of it, glancing past her at her sister. "A pleasure, as always."

She squeezed his fingers lightly before withdrawing her hand. "You've not lost your charm while you were away, I see." They had always been vaguely familiar with each other through their families' association, but it was only after Lucius had taken a romantic interest in Narcissa that they'd become more than simply acquaintances.

Lucius gave a crooked smirk and nodded to Narcissa, while a small dark-haired boy wordlessly began hauling Andromeda's luggage down the aisle. "And why should I have? The French are civilized, are they not? I trust your summer was as refreshing as mine."

Narcissa snorted.

Lucius's eyes darkened in concern. "Nothing unpleasant happened, I hope?"

Andromeda shot her sister a reproachful look. "Of course not. What Narcissa has failed to articulate is that we were simply too busy to ever feel refreshed."

"Your sister's engagement. I'd forgotten." His lips moved in an amused, haughty grin. "And how is Bellatrix?"

Andromeda almost lost her balance as a gaggle of first-years ran past. She stared after them a moment, trying to instill in them the same fear her older sister had inspired throughout her seven-year reign at Hogwarts. The children never saw her.

"Bellatrix is well," she said finally, forcing a stern expression in an attempt to regain her composure. "The wedding will be—"

Lucius held up a hand. "My family has already received the invitation." He paused to draw his wand at a young Hufflepuff who almost stepped on his shoe. Andromeda could feel Narcissa inching up behind her, anxious to settle into Lucius's compartment with him.

"Slytherin—no, _Hogwarts_ won't be the same without Bellatrix," Lucius said finally, and he sounded not entirely remorseful. Even the pureblood Slytherins, those whose families had supported Grindelwald's regime and now secretly claimed loyalty to the new Dark Lord, had lived in reverence and even terror of Bella's penchant for the most violent of the Dark Arts.

"I'm sure we'll make do," Andromeda retorted, perhaps too curtly, for Lucius raised an eyebrow and even Narcissa turned to look at her.

The boy had finished with her luggage and returned to stare up at Lucius, half panting. Narcissa still clutched the handle of her last, small trunk. She wanted this one close to her for easy access—she refused to put on her school robes until the train arrived at its final destination, but couldn't be troubled to change with the other girls in the school bathroom before the sorting began.

Andromeda fished in her cloak for something to give the boy as payment but Lucius dismissed him with a quick pat on the shoulder. They learned to obey him quickly. The boy could have been no older than a second-year, she noted, and his deference to his upperclassman was guaranteed until Malfoy finally graduated.

Having fulfilled his courtly duty, Lucius reached for Narcissa's hand, staring at Andromeda even as he did. With Bella gone she was the eldest Black at Hogwarts and the one whose approval must be sought. When she said nothing Narcissa moved close to Lucius and beamed at her. "You can sit with us, of course."

Andromeda wrinkled her nose and tried to look offended. "You think I've nothing better to do than listen to a group of fifth-years gossip?" The couple exchanged looks and, each holding the other's hand loosely, started down the aisle toward Lucius's compartment. Narcissa gave her wand a lazy tap and the trunk followed after them.

Andromeda waited until they were out of sight and, nervous but not quite understanding why, ducked into the first empty compartment she found.

[Chapter Notes: The first paragraph is an homage to "Gone with the Wind." Couldn't resist.


	2. Chapter 2

[Notes: There are probably a few typos here and there, so do forgive them. I'm trying to work with the image of the Blacks as an "excessive" family—clothes, jewelry, etiquette. Thanks to all the reviewers so far! I'm trying to write this story a chapter ahead, so each new chapter won't be posted until the one following it is done, hence the delay between Chapters 1 and 2. This chapter takes place immediately following the previous.

_Chapter 2: The Train_

The compartment door opened only a few minutes later. A boy held it aside for a witch, who entered looking back over her shoulder at her companion, laughing. It wasn't until the boy stepped inside that they noticed her. She stared at them, unflinching. She had claimed this compartment first. But they were Gryffindors, and like most of their house they were proudly insolent. The boy, a sixth-year, tipped his ridiculous Muggle felt hat in her direction and the girl gave a wide, dimpled smile.

"Miss Black," the boy said, and taking the witch's hand he guided her to the seat opposite Andromeda.

She nodded. "Mr. Longbottom." It sometimes surprised her how much she sounded like Bellatrix; she felt as if she should apologize, though, in her opinion, she'd done nothing wrong.

The witch continued smiling as if it were the only thing she was capable of. She had short, dark hair that fell to her jaw and curled in a style that might have been popular in the 1930s. Her eyes were large and a vivid blue, and Andromeda wondered if the color were natural or merely a charm. She had a soft figure, with full, round arms and a small, girlish belly. If Andromeda were to stand, she knew, she would tower above her.

Frank Longbottom seemed the girl's opposite, tall and thin and serious eyes that perpetually looked as if he were in deep study. A thin spray of stubble coated his chin. He came from a pureblood family but one that had been long outcast from high society, and he wore Muggle clothes with such familiarity and grace that he made them appear almost comfortable.

She would stay buried under a green dress and a long black velvet cloak until they reached the school. Druella Black would never permit her daughters to wear Muggle clothes, not even at the train station, despite the strange looks they received. Her first year, amid all the other Muggle-dressed children, Andromeda felt so ashamed of her thick lace and pearl buttons that she might have cried, had Bella not distracted her with an introduction to every other Slytherin present.

"That's a lovely dress," the witch said, as if sensing her discomfort. Her dimples deepened; Andromeda wondered if they would soon bore holes down to her smiling skull.

"Thank you," she said curtly, and turned to look out the window. It was a bright day out, much too warm for the cloak. Even through the glass the sun seemed to burn it, making her arms hot and sticky. She started to take the cloak off and stopped when the others looked at her, startled by her sudden movement. A bead of sweat rolled down her shoulder.

No one else came to find a seat in their compartment. Frank waved through the glass a few times and once Alice called out to another girl, but the seat next to Andromeda remained empty. Her resemblance to Bellatrix served the function of startling people and warding them off and that was all.

Hogwarts wouldn't be the same without Bella; Lucius was right about that much. Andromeda had shared a dormitory with her sister since her first year and her every waking moment was spent under Bella's critical eyes. Nothing had distracted her from her younger sister; Bellatrix wasn't interested in entertaining friends or men, and not even the purest of pureblood Slytherin boys could catch her attention. She maintained a pleasant but respectfully distant relationship with the others of their house but was devoted to the cultivation of her own family. Many nights Bella had insisted on reading over Andromeda's homework and she had shadowed her every step. Being able to piss in private was a luxury Andromeda rarely obtained.

She would have one year without Bellatrix, but there was still Narcissa to worry about. Cissy's vigilance paled in comparison to Bella's but she was nonetheless watchful. Andromeda had proven herself untrustworthy within the family by being the least vocal about her devotion to the Dark Lord and his cause—Bella wanted to join him and Narcissa spoke frequently of her support, but Andromeda grew visibly nervous when the subject was brought up, and for that she'd earned their suspicions.

Narcissa roomed with girls her own year, though, and had far greater concerns than her sister's activities or lack thereof. Andromeda would have one year of relative peace before she returned to the House of Black, there to accept whatever fate they decided for her.

It was Sirius who would bear the brunt of Narcissa's dominance. He would enter Hogwarts next year, the first son of the House of Black in too many years. The family, she knew, would make it harder for him than for her, for he bore not only their blood but their name, and through him that name could be transferred. His cultivation was much more important than her own. When the family at last decided she was a failure they could simply marry her off and pretend she had never been a Black at all, but Sirius could carry the name anywhere and make of it whatever he chose, could bring it to ruin with a single action. When he came to Hogwarts Narcissa would be the only Black there and would be charged to oversee him.

She wondered, leaning against the window as Frank and Alice babbled on to each other, if the family would have her married as soon as she finished school. She had no career prospects, nor any career aspirations to precede them. The Blacks, like most other families that continued to live off old money, did not work. At the very most they kept an eye on the Ministry, occasionally signing a document or donating large sums of money under the table, but they held no actual jobs. It was rumored that Lucius Malfoy, during his fifth-year career advice session, simply told the [adjudicator that he intended to embark on a career of inheriting his father's money.

It wouldn't matter that she also lacked romantic prospects. Druella had made clear that she had an eye on a man for her daughter, and her choice was enough to have made Andromeda give serious consideration to suicide.

It hadn't been so very different for Bella. She'd graduated from Hogwarts that summer with no job waiting for her, ready to fulfill whatever duty the family decided for her. What she wanted was clear—the Dark Lord was rising, amassing followers across the country, and she desired only to join him in his noble work. But the Dark Lord was well-hidden and his followers would disclose nothing of his whereabouts, and it was rumored he would induct no women into his Death Eaters regardless. The family offered her the best solution, in the person of Rodolphus Lestrange. Bellatrix couldn't be a dark witch, but she could marry a dark wizard.

The Lestranges had long been friends of the Blacks, but Bella had still insisted on examining her prospective fiancé for herself. The difference in their ages didn't concern her, but she had to be sure of his real worth. She read through his pedigree in front of him, taking a magnifying glass to the fine print and shielding her mouth from the dust that covered the old parchment with her shawl. Rodolphus waited through her study in patient silence, smoking in front of the fire. Before the entire family she made him bare his wrists, frowning in deep disappointment when she found no Dark Mark. At last she interrogated him, questioning his education and politics. When her trial of Rodolphus ended, she came before the family, each of the central branches represented with Orion, as eldest of the main line, presiding, to accept the proposal of marriage formally. And when Rodolphus in turn suggested her virginity be examined, she told him simply that she was one and drew her wand with a hot look that said better than any words what she could do to him with it.

If the family did decide to marry Andromeda, she wouldn't be permitted the same period of scrutiny Bella had demanded, for Bella had already done that work for her. If Rodolphus was good enough for Bellatrix, his younger brother was good enough for her sister.

She had met Rabastan often during the summer as arrangements were made for Bellatrix's engagement. He was tall as his brother but somewhat thinner and sharper of features, and he seemed to bathe in old cologne. At the ball the Blacks had thrown in honor of the newly-betrothed couple Andromeda had been forced to sit with him; their conversation consisted of him talking about the Dark Lord's strengthening movement and her nodding at every word. He didn't like her, she knew, but he wanted her, and though he had yet to put his hands on her she lived in fear of their next meeting.

"This is your last year, isn't it?"

The witch's voice. Andromeda turned from the window to see Frank and Alice looking at her, smiling pleasantly as if they were newfound friends.

"Yes." She adjusted her cloak at her throat, aware that it made her look nervous but needing to move her hands nonetheless.

Alice's smile grew wider and she leaned forward. "You must be very excited."

"Quite." She wished now she'd kept her last trunk with her so that she might rummage through it. If she had a book in her hand, perhaps, they wouldn't bother her.

The girl pressed on. "Which classes are you taking? I'll bet you got loads of OWLs your fifth year."

She resisted the urge to snort. It was a common misconception; Bellatrix's academic prowess had earned her a trophy from the school, and her sisters were expected to achieve the same. "Potions. Defense. Herbology. Arithmancy."

"Herbology? Me too!" She grabbed Frank's hand and beamed at him. Andromeda fought to look disgusted and at best managed haughtiness. Alice gave no sign that she noticed. She continued beaming at the boy and said, more to herself than to anyone else, "And we both have to take Defense," and added with an almost sly look to Andromeda, "We're going to become Aurors after school."

This time Andromeda's expression was unfeigned. The boy looked plausible as an Auror, perhaps, but the idea of this smiling, dimpled, soft-bodied girl being accepted into the training program was too ridiculous to be entertained. "I understand it's a difficult program to get into," she said. "They turn away more than 90 of all applicants." She had no idea if this figure was correct; it was simply what she'd heard since fifth year, when, after their career advising sessions, half the school had lamented lacking the acceptable grades to be accepted.

The boy's face hardened. For a moment Alice, too, looked offended, and then her smile returned and she patted her companion's hand once more. "Yes, it's very difficult. Luckily, we're at the top of our class. Professor McGonagall is quite confident about us." She watched her a moment as if deciding whether or not to strike this blow. "Do you have plans yet?"

Andromeda stared at her, considered whether or not she could tell a successful lie. "No," she said finally. "The professional life is not a priority of my House." It was something her mother had told her for years, and sounded false from her lips. The girl opened her mouth to speak again and Andromeda turned back to the window.

"I didn't mean—"

"_FRRRAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaannnnkkkk_!"

Something slammed into the compartment door, rattling the knob. Andromeda was on her feet in a moment, reaching for her wand. Alice and Frank clutched onto each other, looking both startled and amused.

The door opened and a head appeared, contorted in pain and outrage. "_Fraaaaaaaaank_!" it shrieked again. "_Looongbottoooooomm_!"

Frank burst out laughing and, kissing Alice on the forehead, relinquished his grasp on her. "For God's sake, Tonks," he shouted, "Get in here!"

The boy burst inside—another Gryffindor, a seventh-year, taller than Frank and quite broad. He wasn't handsome but pleasantly plain, with blonde hair and brown eyes and a grin as wide as his shoulders. His arms and thighs were thick and looked strong enough to crush a person. She had seen him before and thought she had in fact had classes with him but had never had cause to notice him before.

Frank stood and the boy drew him into a tight hug, patting him roughly on the back. Once he released him he went to embrace Alice, who also stood for him, laughing. Only when he was done greeting them did he notice Andromeda and gave her a contemptuous smile. "Sit down, Bellatrix. No one's bleeding, there's nothing to see."

"I'm not—" she started, but he interrupted her, throwing his arms about the pair.

"How the hell was the summer, kids? You didn't run off and get married, did you?"

Andromeda shoved her wand back into her cloak and sank into her chair, where she resumed staring out the window. The train was rocketing over a field now and she could make out clumps of small blue flowers, thousands of them, it seemed, unaware of their own heritage, the meaning of their every drop of blood.

"I was expecting you sooner," Frank said, offering the boy the seat next to him. "Startin' to think you'd missed the train."

Tonks snorted. "As if the train would leave without me." He leaned in close to them, whispered with a quick glance toward Andromeda. She made out only two words of Alice's response—"her sister."

"I was occupied in the prefects' car," Tonks explained. "Your services are needed."

"Our services," Alice said, "or our galleons?"

Tonks laughed, patting Frank's shoulder. "She's a smart one, isn't she?"

"I've already heard what you're doing." When Frank looked at her in confusion she only kissed his cheek.

Tonks beamed. "Then you'll be aware of the glory of our cause and will, no doubt, contribute." He took out a notepad and a small Muggle pen. "We'll all be out on the Quidditch field before you know it," he said, assuming an air of professionalism, "and I'm sure you know what an important year this is going to be for Gryffindor. We need the cup badly, Frank. Ravenclaw won't be a problem, of course, but Hufflepuff's got a beater from Hell, and some Slytherins have already cornered their seeker about this year's plan of action—it's never too early to start. That being said, how many galleons in favor of our glorious House can I put you down for?" He turned over three pages in the notepad before he found a clean space.

They talked bets for several minutes. Eventually both Frank and Alice put up a small sum in favor of Gryffindor and Tonks rose, against their protestations claiming there were still several compartments he hadn't yet visited. At the door he stopped and turn again to Andromeda, still holding his pen and pad.

"And you, Miss Black—care to put up a few galleons?"

She stared at him nervously, reaching up to play with her cloak's heavy clasp.

"Or how about some emeralds? The glorious cause will accept precious gems in lieu of coinage, of course, if you can't dirty your hands with common money. Is that a real ruby you've got there?"

She sat upright in the seat and drew her eyebrows into her best Black expression, pursing her lips and widening her eyes as her sisters often did. "You may go now, Mr. Tonks."

The boy mimicked her face, then blew her a kiss and disappeared from the compartment, leaving Frank and Alice rolling with laughter.

[More Notes: About the image of Ted here—I was intrigued by the idea of him presented in Deathly Hallows. Here we have "a fair-haired, big-bellied man" whom we are told in OOTP is rather messy and who refers to his spouse as "the wife" married to a woman of one of the "highest" families in the wizarding world. The same is repeated with Fleur's parents—portly, coarse, middle-aged men married to highborn women. I wanted to get away from the idea of Ted I've seen in a lot of places—that dashingly handsome, slender, underwear-model-type boy who absolutely sweeps everyone off their feet—and work with the younger, more boyish version of the man we see in the book.


	3. Chapter 3: Not One To Break Tradition

Notes: Wow, two and a half years since I updated this thing. With the final movie released, I've once again succumbed to Potter fever, and I thought I'd give this story another shot.

_Chapter 3: Not One To Break Tradition_

"That one?"

"Not a chance. Family's been mixed for years."

"And that one?"

"Maybe if he bribes the hat."

A thin ripple of laughter, purposefully haughty, ran through the table's far corner. Sizing up the new students and speculating on which ones might make it into Slytherin was a pastime among house members who made up the middle years. They had been at Hogwarts long enough to feel confident in their place, but weren't yet so old that they'd become complacent. The sixth- and seventh-years, however, socialized amongst themselves as if they hadn't even noticed the line of nervous children. As prefect, Lucius Malfoy sat near the middle of the table where he could easily negotiate both old groups and new, his head high and proud. He wore a slight frown. Narcissa sat across from him, gossiping with her friends and exchanging the occasional look with Lucius.

Andromeda took her seat a few places down from her younger sister. She wished she'd brought a book with her instead of packing them all in her luggage, not to read, but rather to fan herself with. The Great Hall was hot and stuffy, clogged with students and professors. Even the ghosts looked overheated, she thought.

At the head of the room, the Headmaster had stopped chatting with the faculty. The sorting would begin soon. The new first-years were unaware of the exact schedule of an inaugural night at Hogwarts, but the quieting of the faculty table seemed to have tipped them off. Only minutes ago they had glanced about the Hall with expressions of pure wonder; now they shuffled nervously back into a straight line, staring ahead at the dais on which their fates would be decided.

"I wish they'd get on with it," one of the girls nearest her mumbled to no one in particular.

"It's awkward as hell," another answered. "They already know where most of them will end up, anyway."

Of course they did. Andromeda knew that as well as anyone at the table. The faculty pretended it wasn't so, but they all knew it was bloodlines and not the hat that made the ultimate decision. No member of the Black family had ever been placed in a house other than Slytherin. The same was true of the Malfoys, the Lestranges, the wealthy purebloods and the poor alike.

Sirius's sorting would come in a year, then Regulus's two years after. With Andromeda incapable of asserting herself and Narcissa primarily concerned with her own _coif_ and romantic entanglements, Slytherin would have one year free from the rule of the House of Black. As a first-year, it was doubtful that Sirius would have too strong a hold on his classmates, but his fist would tighten around them soon enough. It was Black tradition. Malfoy would never defer to him, of course—their age difference would prevent that—but he would nonetheless view the boy as a future equal, another son of a pure house.

In a way, Andromeda was glad she was going to miss her cousin's sorting. Were she present to witness it, she suspected she might feel a vague sense of pride in her family. The pageantry of the ceremony inevitably lifted the spirits of most students, even the most cynical. She certainly wasn't immune to it. But the arrival of a son of Black to the school for the first time in this generation would, she feared, only highlight her own failure to meet the family's standards.

Had she been surprised when the hat, settled comfortably onto her head, proclaimed her a new member of Slytherin? Not a bit. She'd known, just as they all had, that she would go into the family's house, had known it just as certainly as she knew that Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy were going to be married someday. Nonetheless, she'd felt a tinge of panic as she climbed onto the stool, eleven years old and already under harsh scrutiny of her older sister. She was only the second student called to the front by virtue of her surname's place in the alphabet, but the Sorting Hat was warm as it was lowered to her. Warm and _alive_.

Bellatrix watched with bated breath.

"_I know your family well, Miss Black." The hat's voice surprised her. She hadn't been able to hear it speaking to the student before her until it named his house; she'd expected it to be quiet, little more than a whisper parting her hair. But it spoke loudly, real as any living human. She couldn't discern the sentiment behind what it said. Was it insulting her? Would it dare? _

_She shifted on the stool, waiting. _

_Near the front of the Slytherin table, Bellatrix, already taller than many of her classmates at the age of twelve, stared at her. Like a spider. Like a wolf. Her lips were pursed and her eyebrows stretched up her forehead. _

We belong to Slytherin_, Bella's expression seemed to say_. All of us. Even a weakling like you. You are a Black as much as the rest of us. _Years later, when Bella surpassed all expectations and proved to be a powerful Occlumens, the first known female Occlumens in the family, Andromeda would wonder if she had merely imagined Bella speaking to her with that expression, or if her sister had already begun touching the minds of others at such a young age. _

"_A quiet one, aren't you?" the hat said. "Not at all like your sister. I knew from the beginning there was no other place for her. But you…" _

I am a Black._ Did she whisper or only think the words? _

"_Not one to break tradition, then…"_

_Bella's eyebrows rose to an impossible angle. The hat's decision shouldn't take this long, not for their family. Andromeda knew it. The entire Hall knew it. Not even a full minute had passed since Andromeda had taken her seat, but even that much hesitation was too much. _

_She closed her eyes. _Slytherin, _she thought. _You have to put me in Slytherin. It's the only way.

_The hat moved lower onto her head. "Well. If you're sure… although I daresay you'd fare well in Ravenclaw." Before she could respond, the hat shot up to its full height. "Slytherin!" it proclaimed, and Andromeda opened her eyes. _

_The Slytherin table erupted in cheers. This wasn't just another student joining them, it was another Black, daughter of the ancient and noble house, uplifting them with the tradition that had characterized their students for centuries. Bellatrix looked proudest of them all. She did not clap as the others did; even at twelve she felt herself too dignified for that, but her thin lips pulled into a wide smile. The smile was sincere, and without a hint of cynicism. Bella was proud of her. They all were. _

_Bella was proud of her. _

_She bolted from the dais and scurried to the table, where, amid of sea of hands clapping her on the back, her sister's arms closed around her. _

Six students joined Slytherin over the course of the Sorting Ceremony, the last one Andromeda would ever witness. She felt her hands moving automatically to clap for each one. If they settled into a spot at the table near her, she offered a polite smile. Several places down, Lucius Malfoy received his charges like a king welcoming foreign diplomats into his court.

Across the Hall, the Gryffindor table cheered louder than any of the others, though Hufflepuff certainly offered them competition. Eight new first-years entered Gryffindor, a strong number, a good start for the house that prided itself on its ability to fill a room. She couldn't see the couple from the train, the sickeningly cute pair who had pretended they didn't disdain her in such obvious fashion. And why? There was nothing between them, they had no reason to even speak to each other. She suspected they were baiting her somehow, or at the very least mocking her, knowing she lacked Bellatrix's impatience and confidence, and more importantly, her cruelty.

She couldn't see them, but she did see the boy who'd clamored into their cabin. He still clutched the pencil and notepad as he made his rounds of the table, marking wagers on a Quidditch season that hadn't even started yet. He didn't, she noted, spare the new first-years, but rather accosted them as soon as they'd been welcomed into the Gryffindor flock. He was probably targeting the Muggle-borns, she thought cynically, those who had no idea how much galleons were worth. It would be like a member of his house to rely on ignorance.

The Headmaster began to speak. Most Slytherins paid no attention to the blithering old idiot, and she was no exception. His speeches rarely changed. There was optimism for the new year, tempered with warnings of the dark days to come in the world outside Hogwarts. The Dark Lord wasn't explicitly mentioned, but they all knew to what Dumbledore referred – the rising army the Dark Lord was slowly amassing, the dark creatures who had already sworn allegiance to Him, the wizards who, according to rumor, were ready to mobilize when he gave the order. He allegedly recruited young and old alike, requiring only magical blood and talent in the Dark Arts among his followers. Dumbledore had never implicated specific families, but he nonetheless inspired suspicions within the students that future servants of the Dark Lord were sitting amongst them, merely waiting for Him. Many inevitably glanced at the Slytherin table, knowing it was from that house that the Dark Lord's faithful were sure to arise.

The new first-years, even those who now belonged to Slytherin, hadn't yet developed their elders' thick skins. They watched the Headmaster with wide eyes, all cheer seeping from their faces as Dumbledore's voice droned on. The school was safe, but only for a while. Eventually, if the Dark Lord did continue growing in power, war might come to Hogwarts. They would be the ones making choices; they would have to fight.

At the Gryffindor table, the Tonks boy surreptitiously passed his notepad back and forth between students. Was he still taking bets? He frowned, biting his lip as if doing figures in his head. He _was_ taking them. Right under the faculty's noses, down on the floor where the entire school could see him if they only turned in his direction, he was gambling.

_He had mistaken her for Bellatrix, and he had insulted her and her sister alike. He was a fool_.

The Headmaster concluded his speech on an uplifting note. The ceremony ended. Each house, now slightly increased in its number, broke into individual students and groups. A great cacophony echoed throughout the Hall as they prepared to leave. Younger students lingered, taking in the strange and new sights of the floating candles, the high, vaulted ceiling, while other scrambled toward the exit, knowing the real celebration was only beginning.

Narcissa touched her arm. Andromeda hadn't noticed her sister's approach, lost in her anger at the Gryffindor mudblood's audacity. She gave a slight jump.

"Are you quite all right?" Narcissa demanded rather than asked, withdrawing her hand as if she feared infection. "You look positively frightened." She talked like their mother.

"I'm fine," she managed. "Just, you know… last year and all. It's rather surreal."

Narcissa's frown remained. "I suppose. Are you coming to the Common Room? Lucius will be making the usual announcements, of course, but we've wine this year."

"Of course." She forced a reassuring smile, then evoked her older sister's manner. "I'm just tired is all. Make sure I've a good seating waiting for me. We're overrun by half-bloods."

"You'll sit by Lucius and me. I'll make sure of it. With our Bella gone…" She trailed off, glancing toward one of the ghosts who floated past. "I'm sure some of the younger ones will need to be reminded of the strength of our house."

Did she mean Slytherin, or the House of Black? Andromeda didn't ask.

Narcissa wandered off after Lucius, stepping gracefully in the heeled shoes she'd chosen for the inaugural night. Her light hair, more like her boyfriend's than her own family's, gleamed under the candles. Andromeda might have admired it had she not known of the many charms her little sister had practiced for years merely to manipulate her blonde locks to her own satisfaction.

She rose from the table as the last of the Slytherins made their way down the aisle, slipping into their group easily. They didn't regard her with the fear and reverence awarded to Bella, nor with the regal charm Narcissa inspired, but the made room for her nonetheless.

A gaggle of Gryffindors had formed by one of the marble columns that flanked the first staircase. The Slytherins pushed through them as roughly as possible, but a few Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs stopped to infiltrate their ranks. The Tonks boy stood at the group's center, loud and broad and seemingly clumsy although he moved only to take more wagers. _The fool, the bastard, daring to insult her family, to ask for her jewelry as if she were as common as any Muggle, the imbecile—_

She'd stopped moving. She hadn't meant to fall out of the Slytherin line, hadn't even been aware of staring at the group of raucous gamblers, but she raised her chin proudly and stepped through their outer circles. A startled voice spoke her name and they turned to look at her, but she kept her focused straight ahead. They parted for her, more out of amusement than respect, allowing her entrance.

The Tonks boy grinned widely, ridiculously. "Lost your way? The Slytherins live downstairs. In the basement. All the spiders should be cleared out by now, if that's what you're worried about."

She kept her head still, giving no outward sign of her offense. "Are you still taking wagers?" she said, as contemptuously as she could muster.

"Bets are open til the end of the week."

She smiled – a crooked smile, the one that ran in the family, the one with which Bella made even other purebloods feel inferior. It always felt strange on her face.

"A hundred galleons on Slytherin."

Gasps rose from the small crowd. A nameless girl laughed, and a pair of boys elbowed each other.

Tonks's eyes grew wide, but his grin never broke. "One hundred on Slyth," he called, scrawling it on the notepad. "And which one are you? It's so hard to tell you apart."

_You know my name._ More laughter from the others.

"If you paid attention in astronomy you'd be able to figure it out."

He laughed, a loud, hearty sound. "Andromeda Black," he said. "No backing out once it's written."

"Good. I won't be needing to back out." She sneered at him, then spun on her heels and began the push back through the others. When she finally reached the staircase, the lot of them burst into laughter. She could still hear them even as she descended toward the dungeon.


	4. Chapter 4: Sisters

**[For anyone who hasn't seen the profile update, I'm going to try to keep to a schedule with this story. New chapters will be posted on Fridays.]**

_Chapter 4:_

_Sisters_

"Are you mad?"

Andromeda lowered her book. "Your pardon, Cissy?"

Over the crest of her knees Narcissa's pale face appeared, freshly scrubbed with whatever concoction she favored this month. She'd been interested in potions only insomuch as the subject gave her new opportunities for cosmetic improvement. Her blue eyes gleamed hotly in the lamplight.

"A hundred galleons!" Narcissa spat. "Are you absolutely insane?"

She sat up on the bed, closing the book and laying it aside. A calm movement—measured, exact. She forced herself not to flinch. "Would you care to be more articulate?"

Narcissa strode forward like a hungry animal. No clicking heels accompanied her; she had come barefoot, as disheveled as she could ever be. "You know damn well what I'm talking about."

"No, Cissy, I don't. And I'd appreciate if you'd simply tell me instead of barging into my room and yelling like a harpy."

"Stop it! Stop playing with me! You made a bet with-…with _that boy_!"

_Calm. Measured_. "Ah. The Gryffindor boy. Theodore Tank or something. He was collecting wagers on the Quidditch."

Narcissa rolled her eyes. "Yeah. I know. Everyone knows after what you did!"

"What exactly are you angry about, Cissy? That I made a wager in support of our house or that I spoke to a Mudblood? If the latter, I'm sure you've exchanged a word or two with one of them while you've been here."

"That…is far from the point, Andromeda!" Narcissa shuddered in anger. Bellatrix would have hexed her at least once by now just for impudence, but such aggressive tactics had never been their youngest sister's style. She preferred not to get her hands dirty.

"Then what exactly is your point?"

Narcissa scoffed and stamped a foot. "My point is that you embarrassed yourself in front of the whole school! And what's more, you've embarrassed your house and, I daresay, our family!"

"Merlin's beard," she sighed, rolling her eyes. "Firstly, you give that boy too much credit if you think the entire school saw us. Secondly, Slytherin has no rules, written or social, about making wagers that support our house. And finally, Cissy, if you think that something as simple as a wager on Slytherin's quidditch season is somehow an insult to our family, you clearly didn't pay much attention to some of things Bella did when she was here. You're not even paying attention to Lucius, for that matter. How much gold has he taken off first-years?"

"Leave Lucius out of this," Narcissa snapped. "And if Bella were here, she'd ruin your face for a week just for risking embarrassment."

She jumped off the bed. She wasn't quite as tall as Bella, but she still had a few inches on her little sister. "Listen!" She leaned into Narcissa's face. "Whether you like it or not, Bella isn't here anymore. Next year, you and Lucius Malfoy can have the run of the place, but until then, I'm the representative of the Black family at Hogwarts, and you will respect me as such. Do you understand?"

Narcissa gave a curt, stung nod.

"Good girl. Now run along and comb your hair."

Her sister left, dejected but not defeated. No doubt she would go to her own room where she could sulk without worrying about her appearance. Once Lucius, flanking Horace Slughorn, was done speaking to the new first-years she would probably seek comfort in him. It wasn't as if they would get caught—even if they did, no one was likely to turn a Black and a Malfoy in for snogging under a staircase. Ignorant students had suffered permanent mutilations for far lesser offenses than tattling.

She lay back down on the bed. The leather cover of her book, a 19th century text on encounters with sentient, man-eating plants, looked inviting, but she'd lost her taste for reading. Her roommates, two sour-faced girls of only middle-class pureblood families for whom a hundred galleons would be a ridiculous amount to put on a bet, would be there any minute now. She wanted to be asleep before they came.

Andromeda kicked the book onto the floor and turned out the light.

* * *

In the morning, all seemed forgotten, forgiven.

In the morning, she walked with a gaggle of her housemates to the Great Hall for breakfast. Narcissa, refreshed and pretending she hadn't been chastened the night before, walked behind her, alongside Prefect Malfoy as he led his new charges to their meal.

In the morning, none of the others so much as mentioned the wager she'd made. She wondered if word had circulated that she was not to be bothered about it.

In the morning, she spotted Ted Tonks immediately as the Slytherins filed into the Hall. Her annoyance with him made him seem taller and broader than he'd been yesterday. She watched disdainfully as he jotted down another note in his book and pushed into a seat between two Gryffindors; bowls of food were passed his way immediately. _He looks like he eats enough_, she thought, feeling her lip curl into a sneer. _At least it shuts him up_.

In the morning, she had just begun to nibble on a scone when the owl arrived.

It dove through the flurry of birds that came to bear students warm wishes from their families on their first day, finding its target as easily as if she were the only person in the room. The Sooty Owl's black eyes narrowed as it descended; its white face shone like a frozen lake in the sunlight. It dropped a letter onto Andromeda's plate and settled in front of her for a moment to preen. She recognized it immediately; it had lived in the family's owlery for years. Though Bellatrix had never been fond of animals, she'd seemed to enjoy her owl.

Her hands shook as she picked up the envelope. She fought to steady them. If Bellatrix had somehow heard about the wager, if she had sent a screamer—

The letter opened silently. Her sister's handwriting, narrow but elegant, made sleek black lines across the expensive parchment. Despite Bella's impulsiveness, there were no stray marks. She must have taken her time with this one.

_Dearest sister,_

_Congratulations on reaching your final year of school. Given that Hogwarts is a veritable bastion of foolishness and distraction, making it through to one's seventh year is an accomplishment. _

_As a seventh-year, you must represent our family with pride and grace. I know you hate to be assertive, but I think you can manage that much without too many moral dilemmas…although you really should work on developing more of a spine. Mother has always said you're too polite, and I'm inclined to agree with her. _

_Please make sure our little sister doesn't become too distracted with Malfoy. She's too young for a formal engagement, and it won't look proper if she throws herself all over the boy. _

_I'll see you when you come home for the holidays._

_B. _

She folded the letter as the stiffness began to go out of her shoulders. Her sister had written not a single word about her upcoming marriage to Rodolphus, though it was scheduled for the winter holidays she had mentioned. Perhaps she'd forgotten. Though Bella was as proud of her match as the rest of the family was, there seemed little affection between her and her fiancé.

Andromeda picked up a bit of bacon from a passing dish and offered it to the owl. "Go back home, Cappella."

Bellatrix's owl snapped at the meat greedily and took to the air. Staring after it and clutching Bella's letter, Andromeda realized she'd lost her appetite.

* * *

[**Chapter notes**: Sooty Owls are native to Australia, but I think they have a suitable look for a young Bellatrix's use, and besides, in a world of time turners, dragons, and invisibility cloaks, I figure it wouldn't really be a big deal to have an Australian owl in England. But don't tell DEFRA I said that. Like everything else in the Black family, Bella's owl is named for a star.

The real "meat" of the story begins in the next chapter; thanks for sticking with me thus far.]


	5. Interlude 1: A Sense of Duty

[Note: Thanks for the comments! Per my 2008 outline (and the story summary here), every few chapters will be punctuated by a scene taking place during the Second War. This is the first of those. QUICK EDIT! Reader **AnotherStupidNickname** has pointed out that Ted was likely a Hufflepuff, not a Gryffindor. I'm not sure if that information was out there in 2008 when I wrote the outline and the first couple of chapters of this story, but if it was, I completely missed it, though the book does suggest its likelihood. Sorry about that. I can edit a couple of bits of the previous chapters to change his house to Hufflepuff, or I can keep it as Gryffindor for consistency. If any reader has a preference, please shoot me a message or tell me in a review. **AnotherStupidNickname**, thanks for catching that!]

* * *

_Interlude #1: A Sense of Duty_

_June, 1994_

"We were wrong about him, Andromeda," the Headmaster said, looking quite out of place in her home. "We all were. We failed him."

"Sir, if I had known-"

Albus Dumbledore silenced her with a gentle wave of his hand. "If anyone on this earth had known besides the real culprit himself, I'm sure many things would have been different. As it is…"

"You're going to ask a favor, aren't you?"

"Always the bright one, Andromeda." He smiled and folded his wrinkled hands under his beard. "I'm sure you will agree that it's the least we can do for your cousin. The very least."

She frowned. "Are you asking me to speak at the Ministry on his behalf?"

The Headmaster laughed as if she'd said something funny. "Certainly not! If you give the slightest sign that you know of Sirius Black's whereabouts, they'll watch your every move. They'll watch your husband, your daughter. They may even find some trivial thing with which to charge you just so they can bring you in for interrogation."

"You don't trust them very much anymore, do you, sir?"

The smile remained on Dumbledore's face, but it took on a slight, almost nostalgic, sadness. "I'm afraid to say that your cousin's case has, shall we say, _confirmed_ a few of my suspicions about the Ministry's current direction."

"Then Sirius-"

"All I'm asking, Andromeda," he said gently, "is that you open your home to him. Just for a night or two. We've got to move him, but since Mr. Potter has spoken in Sirius's defense, his allies have come under intense scrutiny. It's slow going. You might consider yourself a stop along his way."

"His way where, sir?"

"That, I'm afraid, I cannot tell you."

"Of course. I understand."

"While Sirius is being moved, we will also be making efforts to re-mobilize certain members of Order of the Phoenix as precautionary measure."

She blinked. "You think it's necessary?"

"Absolutely. And if not, it will still be good to see old friends again." His smile remained, but she knew beneath it was a grave solemnity. If there was a chance of the Order coming back together, it meant the old man believed their fight had only just begun.

"Your husband served the first Order well," he said.

"He felt it was his duty. He was targeted. After what Bellatrix and the others-"

"And you, Andromeda?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Your duty…"

Heat rose in her cheeks. "Was to my family. My daughter. I didn't leave the House of Black just to die fighting against my sister and her Death Eaters."

"_Her_ Death Eaters," the Headmaster echoed, musing. He cleared his throat. "It would seem, then, Andromeda, that your family has need of your protection again."

She frowned again. Her cheeks were still flushed in indignation, but she felt herself calming again. "Will he be…coherent?"

"Are you asking if he's as mad as the _Daily Prophet_ says he is?"

"Yes."

The Headmaster unfolded his hands and steepled his fingers. "Yes. In a way, he's even madder now. But he isn't insane, Andromeda. And while I daresay he's plenty dangerous, he doesn't pose a threat to any of us." He smiled at her again, a kind, grandfatherly expression. "He doesn't blame you, Andromeda. Sirius Black seeks revenge, but not against you."

* * *

_And yet…_

Her hands shook as she poured the tea. The loss of control frightened her. She could summon the wind, could disappear in Leicester Square and reappear a hundred miles away in the country in an instant, could make viruses that had threatened her child with illness consume themselves. She'd survived the worst the Black family could throw at her. Scars from their curses still marked the flesh under her clothes. But she couldn't stop herself from shaking in her own kitchen tonight.

He had come just after twilight, escorted by the Headmaster himself. He wore cheap Muggle clothes and a secondhand robe over them. His hair was longer than it had ever been in his youth, and though he was seven years younger than Andromeda, he looked much older. Azkaban had withered him. His eyes had sunk into their dark sockets, and his high cheekbones, a telltale feature of their lineage, jutted out from his face obscenely. In the rising moonlight his head looked like a skull. The man Dumbledore had brought with him to her house tonight wasn't Sirius Black. He was a foreign wraith, an inhuman creature.

"Milk or sugar?" she asked, keeping her back to her cousin.

"Just a touch of milk, please," Sirius answered politely. "I'm not very picky. Not much tea in Azkaban, you know."

_Was that a joke? _

"No, I would imagine not." She pointed her wand at the refrigerator, a Muggle brand whose appliances Ted preferred for some reason. The door opened and the milk floated out. Over the teacups its cap turned, and the jug tilted to pour a dollop into each cup. She returned the milk to the fridge by hand.

Sirius Black, last scion of the House of Black, took the cup from her gratefully. Her hand trembled as she relinquished it.

"Come now, Andromeda," he said, smiling. His smile was still so young, so boyish. "Surely you're not still afraid of me."

"No." She sat across from him.

"I couldn't really blame you if you were. Merlin knows I look like a right monster now."

"You don't look that bad-"

"Liar."

"-Just a little emaciated."

Sirius laughed, a deep, barking sound. "I never thought I'd be in a position to take 'emaciated' as a compliment."

"Well." She sipped her tea humorlessly. "You look much better than you did in the picture the papers were running last year."

"And that was just my first day there!" His strange laugh echoed in the kitchen again.

"You did look a bit-"

"Mad?"

"Well. Yes."

"You can say it, Andromeda, it's the truth. I was quite mad that day."

"I suppose it's understandable."

All humor left his face. "It was," he said firmly. "I lost the two most important people in my life. I lost my life."

"You didn't deny it."

"Nor could I." He raised his cup to her. "They wouldn't have believed me. They _didn't_ believe me when I _did_ tell them. That's how cunning Peter was. There was no way I could come out clean that day."

Andromeda shifted in the chair uncomfortably.

"Of course," Sirius went on. "There was much more to it than that. There were quite a few parties who didn't know about Peter who wanted me out of the way too. Even those who believed I'd done it wanted me silenced and locked away before I had the chance to give their names and crimes to the Ministry."

"You mean Malfoy, don't you." A statement, not a question.

"Among others."

"You think he helped the Ministry's case?"

"Andromeda." Sirius leaned forward, resting his bony elbows on the table and peering into her eyes intently. "I didn't get a trial. _I didn't get a trial_. Even _Bellatrix_, that mental cow, got a trial. I was arrested, photographed, stripped, and thrown in a cell with a sack to wear the same day. They chucked me in Azkaban for life within 24 hours of what happened to those Muggles. Do you really find it hard to believe that Lucius Malfoy greased a few palms?"

"No," she said, chastened.

Sirius took another drink and relaxed a little. "How is the old bastard anyway? I think I saw his hideous crotch spawn when I was at the school"

She lowered her eyes. "I wouldn't know.'

"You and '_Cissy'_ still have bad blood between you?"

She suppressed a laugh. "No. The blood was always Bellatrix. I just want Narcissa to be pecked to death by those inbred peacocks she keeps."

Sirius chuckled and lifted his cup again. "To being outcasts."

They drank. Neither of them spoke for several minutes. The clock's ticking seemed much louder suddenly. The rest of the house seemed too quiet, none of the bustle of Ted's many hobbies nor the crashing of Nymphadora tripping over her own feet. Though she had asked both of them to spend the night away, Ted sleeping over at their daughter's London flat, she now wished they would return.

"You're not reading my mind, are you?" Sirius asked finally, breaking the silence with a boyish, joking tone. "Legilimency? I never tried all that hard to pick it up."

She gave a tight smile. "No. But I find it hard to believe that an Auror wouldn't at least have elementary training in Occlumency."

Sirius shrugged. "We learned our own methods of keeping unwanted people out of our heads at Grimmauld Place." He drank and added off-handedly. "It was your family too. You remember."

"I suppose you're right."

"You managed to keep everyone from finding out about Ted long enough. And, you know…" He trailed off uncomfortably.

"Not long enough."

"I think you wanted them to know by that point."

She shifted in the chair, looking away from him.

He took his cue. "Not exactly polite conversation for tea, is it? Sorry." He offered her a grin that might have been handsome fourteen years ago. "I think we've already covered the ground we probably should have avoided. Oh well. Best to get the elephant in the room _out _of the room as quickly as possible, I say." He toasted her again and raised his cup to swallow the remainder of his tea. "That out of the way, how's Ted? Did you run him off just for me?"

"I…did ask him to stay with Nymphadora tonight. The two of you-"

"Get along far too well, I know. We got completely pissed a couple of times. He's a good man, Ted is. You both must be very proud of Dora."

She scowled a little at the nickname. "Nymphadora will be a fine Auror. Though I admit it isn't a profession I would have chosen for her."

"Aw, come on, Andromeda," he protested. "It was fun when James and I were there."

"I distinctly remember hearing of you being injured a time or two."

"Well. The birds love scars, you know. Makes them think you're tough." Sirius had been quite the ladies' man when he was younger, but now Andromeda thought he was unlikely to make a good match, framed for mass murder or not. Surely one of them could work a charm to flesh him out a bit more or to take away his sickly pallor, or at least to whiten his teeth a bit.

"Nymphadora has been assigned under Kingsley Shacklebolt."

"Ah." Sirius's grin widened. "I know the name. Head of my manhunt, I believe."

"Something like that."

"You've not got him hiding here, have you? Laying in wait for me, ready to haul me in?"

Her brow furrowed. "But I thought-"

"Yeah, Kingsley's in the know. Dumbledore made sure of that. He'll be a good teacher for Dora."

"If she doesn't fall into a lake and get killed by a grindylow."

Sirius frowned. "That's not exactly fair, is it? I've heard the girl's a bit clumsy, but that's nothing. I've seen Ted take a few falls down staircases that weren't even there!"

"It's different." He had a point, though, she realized. Ted's clumsiness had brought out her more affectionate side at Hogwarts, and she had no real right to deem it a fault in their daughter.

"The hell it's different," Sirius said, not harshly but with notable conviction. "Sure, it's not what you'd wish on a kid, but it's just a small thing. And kids don't ever turn out perfectly what their parents wish for." He looked into his empty cup and smiled sadly. "You and I know that very well."

She said nothing.

Sirius cleared his throat awkwardly. "I'm…sorry I couldn't do more for you then. When you and Ted-"

"You were only a child."

He scoffed. "I was Orion Black's son. I should have been able to leave them all crippled and bleeding on the floor for what they did to you that night."

"There's nothing you could have done. He would have given you worse and you know it. _You know it, Sirius_."

"It was my duty."

Would one of Dumbledore's allies be there to collect him in the morning? Or would he spend another night? Would he be forgotten and left in her custody? She wanted him gone. It pained her to look at him, to see the dark shell of the man who was once the sole redeeming member of their family, the only one of them who hadn't proven full of hatred and bloodlust. She wanted to take him into her arms, to embrace him as she hadn't in so many years now. She wanted to recoil from him. She wanted him safely out of the country, thousands of miles away from the Dementors that still prowled for him in the night. She wanted him back in Azkaban where she wouldn't have to look at him and see just how badly she had failed him.

"Look, Andromeda," he said gently, extending his arm across the table to touch her hand. "I know this is awkward. I know that there's a lot that needs to be said before…before things can be like they were between us. Let's just stop blaming ourselves and get on with it, hm?"

"I believed them," she reminded him gravely.

He took her hand into his. "Everyone did. I was angry, _I still am angry_, but not with you. Not anymore. I know what Peter Pettigrew did and how he did it, and I know how well the Ministry slandered me. I would have believed them too."

"No, you wouldn't. Not if it were me. You'd have known I could never do that, that I…wasn't like _her_."

"I'd want to believe it. I'd try. And I would fail. You know as well as I do how deep their power runs. All the way to the top of the Ministry, all the way down to the pits of hell. They can make anyone believe what they want them to believe. That's their power." He squeezed her hand. "Maybe you could tell the family to come round in the morning? I'll make pancakes. They'll taste like a doxy's ass, of course, but the thought will definitely be there!"

"If that's what you want."

"Course it is. I love a crowd, you know that. I get more attention that way!" He winked at her and released her hand. "Besides, I like your family."

"They're your family too, Sirius."

He smiled and rose to refill his cup. His eyes glistened in the moonlight that pierced the window. "So they are," he said.


	6. Chapter 5: Hair of the Dog

Note: Leaving Ted in Gryffindor for now.

_Chapter 5_

_Hair of the Dog_

_September, 1970_

It was Sunday, only three weeks into the new school year, and Andromeda Black woke up with her very first hangover.

It wasn't that she'd never indulged in alcohol before. Like any wealthy pureblood family, the Blacks had their own private wine cellars, one at Number 12 Grimmauld Place, where Orion and Walburga, head of the family, maintained the family's estate, and one under Andromeda's own home. The more distant members of their line envied them for it. Wine flowed copiously at their parties and reunions, and holiday dinners were blood red with Orion and Cygnus's favorite vintages. She'd been accustomed to drinking a glass of wine for years. Dragon's Breath, on the other hand—

One of her roommates, Flora, had been the one to offer Andromeda her first taste. The girls heard the commotion from the common room just after dark. Andromeda slipped back into her shoes and followed Flora quickly down the hall, expecting to find Lucius Malfoy already reprimanding his charges. Perhaps one of the first-years, emboldened by a couple of transfiguration lessons, attempted to turn someone into a footstool, ignoring the limitations of human-to-object spells. Madame Pomfrey would have to be recruited to remove the woodchips from the victim's skin.

But there were no half-mutated students convulsing on the common room floor, nor was Malfoy brandishing a threatening wand at the latest student to prove their own ineptitude. The common room was full to capacity, with Malfoy, joined, of course, by Narcissa, barely in sight as they lounged on a green sofa. While a couple of the first-years scrambled about the room, the teeming crowd mostly comprised the older students. The air smelled faintly of the pub at Hogsmeade.

"What's going on?" she asked of a passing sixth-year, too quietly to be heard above the mirthful noise.

No one needed to hear. She spotted one of the bottles as it changed hands at the center of the common room. To her left another one was uncorked.

She touched Flora's hand. "Do you have any idea-" she began, but was cut off by her roommate's high squeal.

"_Is that Dragon's Breath_?"

Someone across the room let out a hearty cheer. Flora pulled away from her and rushed to the nearest student with a bottle.

She felt a dull thrill beginning inside her. She had never been allowed Dragon's Breath before, though she knew her parents always kept a bottle on hand for their favorite late night guests. A highly potent drink, the liquor was made from firewhiskey that had been infused with a few drops of a living dragon's blood. Blood from an older, larger dragon was the most powerful and most expensive, but cheaper bottles made from hatchlings (Andromeda didn't know how hatchling blood could be harvested, nor did she want to know) could be bought at any decent pub. The cheaper bottles, however, were nowhere near as intoxicating, and so a strong bottle of Dragon's Breath was worth more than just a few galleons. She'd heard of it being used as barter even now.

The drink had never touched her lips, nor Narcissa's, as far as she knew. But she had seen Bellatrix swallow a shot of it in a single gulp without so much as a wince or a shudder. She'd placed the empty glass down and demanded another.

"My wand's core is made from their hearts," Bella explained when asked about her ability to stomach the burning red-tinted drink better than many adult men. "I should think I'd be able to handle their blood as well."

There was some concern amongst activists and the laughably soft-hearted members of the Ministry that Dragon's Breath was made inhumanely, that any method of collecting blood from animals for use in a recreational drink was inherently immoral. A creature such as the dragon, they believed, with its famously hard scales and tough, thick hide, must feel pain and discomfort when its blood is being taken, and thus any products made from their blood were gotten only by their suffering. An enlightened world, they argued, could not entertain itself by harming these creatures.

Of course, no laws against Dragon's Breath would ever be passed. Too many powerful families prized their abilities to obtain the strongest bottles; too much money was made from their sale. Every couple of years someone would propose a motion to ban the collection of dragon blood for the drink and the motion would inevitably disappear, never to achieve the slightest result.

Flora returned, holding two candles that had been transfigured into decanters. "I tried it," she said excitedly. "It tastes strong. I can feel it already." She held one of the cups out to Andromeda.

She hesitated. A voice in the back of her head worried about Slughorn somehow discovering what his students were doing. But Slughorn would be no problem, even if he barged into the common room right now. He was a fool, a weak-minded and weak-willed man. At worst he would only tell the Headmaster. Dumbledore was himself weak-minded and weak-willed. A few detentions and letters home would mean nothing.

"Cheers," Flora said, smiling, and she lifted her glass.

Andromeda brought her glass to her mouth. She could smell the liquor already, a pungent sweetness, but with something else…a faint bitterness, like an unpleasant memory she couldn't quite regain. Her lips parted and the whiskey flowed between them. The insides of her cheeks burned. Her throat tried to close. But just when she thought she would have to spit the whiskey out the liquid cooled in her mouth. A smooth wave rose from the liquid she held between her cheeks, caressing her throat, coaxing it to open. Every muscle in her body relaxed. For a moment she saw everything in red.

Now, on Sunday morning, she couldn't remember how much of the bloody whiskey she had drunk, if she had ever refilled her glass or if the one had been enough. She couldn't remember ever coming back to her room. Her shoes and shirt were off, discarded on the floor, but her socks, skirt, and camisole remained, though at some point she must have unbuttoned the skirt.

She forced herself to sit up. She was alone in the room; Flora had either not returned or had already risen, as had Isabella. Their beds were perfectly made, suggesting the former. She hoped they were all right. She hoped _she_ was all right. Her skull felt as if it had been used as a quaffle. The taste of bile poisoned her mouth. Nausea gripped her stomach when she moved. The barest hint of light from the candle that burned in the corner of the room sent daggers into her eyes.

She stood up, rocked in place on her feet, and immediately ran for the bathroom, where she spent the next hour on her knees with her face over the toilet. If the smell in the lavatory was anything to go by, she wasn't the only girl who had spent the morning in this condition. She dozed off, awoke, and vomited. She slept again. The cold porcelain against her forehead comforted her in a way that her mother's arms never had.

She didn't rise again until her stomach had nothing more to offer up. The warm _red_ sensation of the Dragon's Breath was gone from her entirely. She could taste only the awful mixture of her own digestive fluids, could smell only her own sour flesh.

Bathing only helped a little. Andromeda emerged from the hot shower feeling as if an entire week had passed since she'd last slept. Her muscles protested every movement. The mirrors in the bathroom, enhanced by one of Narcissa's charms, showed her that her face had become that of a wraith. Her skin was dull and white as bone. Deep, puffy circles of black and purple pushed her eyes far back into their sockets. The eyes themselves were stained red.

"Great," she mumbled to herself, feeling her lips move long after she'd thought the word.

Her wand would be useless if she intended to go out into public, which the need to eat, even on such a sour stomach, would eventually compel her to do. The last time she had tried a glamour she had turned her skin into leather and had needed Narcissa, with her vast knowledge of glamours and physical charms, to restore her flesh.

With her hair cleansed of the night's liquored sweat, she could simple put something over her eyes. Sunglasses, perhaps, like any Muggle woman. She could dumbfound her entire house and make Narcisssa faint from shame.

The halls of the dungeon remained empty when she left the bathroom. She stopped in front of the common room and peered inside to see a dozen of her housemates, still unconscious, lying across the furniture, across the floor, in positions they could never have achieved while sober. Flora was folded into the corner of a sofa with a sixth-year boy. Though her sister was missing, Andromeda identified one of the sleeping men as Lucius by his hair.

A new kind of disgust clenched her stomach. These people called themselves Slytherins? They were the representatives of the honorable house of Salazar Slytherin, one of the greatest wizards in England? These stinking, groaning, pallid forms that littered the common room like garbage?

She couldn't stay in the dungeon, no matter how ill she felt. She couldn't be among these people, though she had indulged with them only hours ago. She couldn't remain down in the dark nursing her wounds.

Andromeda left the dungeon and ascended to the library, where she pretended to research the uses of Bulgarian toadstools. The library was almost entirely devoid of any human presence. Two Ravenclaws worked on a paper several tables away from her, and if they paid her any attention, she never noticed. Her eyes couldn't focus, so she only stared at the pages of her books, turning them every so often as if she feared the walls themselves would see through her ruse.

The light lunch she took at mid-day settled into her stomach easily enough. She returned to the library long enough to realize that, all dignity aside, she couldn't remain awake much longer. Leaving her books on the table for others to put away, she fled the room in a flourish of black robes. Her feet moved more quickly than she meant them to, carrying her clumsily over stone and marble, down the maze of moving staircases that tried to dump her into the wrong corridor. Her shoes slipped on the steps as they moved. Once she nearly skidded off the edge of the staircase as it swerved through the air. Morbidly, through her post-intoxication haze, she wondered how long it would take for her body to be found if she plummeted to the ground floor.

The archway that towered above the stairs leading down to the dungeon loomed. Foregoing all pride, she rushed toward it. A strange grinding sound behind her gave her pause. She glanced about the corridor, struggling to see into its dark corners, and saw nothing. She turned again to descend the staircase and screamed.

"Easily spooked, huh?" Ted Tonks said, grinning broadly.

She patted the sides of her robes as if straightening them and struggled to regain her composure. "You…startled me, that's all."

"Yeah, I kind of noticed that." He stood at the center of the archway with his feet planted apart. She would have to brush past him to get to the staircase.

A Gryffindor, _a Mudblood_, barring the entrance to her House's quarters. He had no right to be here.

"How did you get here?" she snapped.

"Umm…I live here."

"Here."

"The castle. At least while school's in. Then I live at home with my parents."

"Your Muggle parents."

"I'm flattered you know, Miss Black." He winked.

Of course she knew. The entire school probably knew; at least the Slytherins all did. What this boy and his lot didn't know was that the names of all Mudblood students are recorded on a folded sheet of parchment hidden in the Slytherin common room, there for the reference of any student who needed to be sure of their own acquaintances. The first-years were shown the list as part of their informal welcome into the Slytherin fold.

She rolled her eyes. "You know what I'm asking."

"You want to know how I did it."

"Yes. Apparation?"

Ted scoffed. "Apparation is impossible for students on campus grounds, you know that. And quite frankly, I'm disappointed in your lack of imagination." He took a step forward, wearing a smile he probably thought was charming.

She felt impatient, nervous. "Then how?"

"I'm clever like that."

"What do you want?" she snapped.

"Touchy," he said, stepping back and chuckling. "I thought you weren't as uptight as the other two."

"Whatever gave you that impression?" She tried to mimic Bellatrix's proud stance, Narcissa's haughty face.

Ted gave an amused shrug. "I don't know. Maybe the fact that you've never been caught testing curses on frogs or making a girl's hair fall out for accidentally stepping on your shoe."

She rolled her eyes again. "That was just a rumor."

"Which one?"

"Bellatrix and the frogs. And Narcissa's shoes were ruined by what that girl did."

"Oh, cry me a river." He strode forward again, leaving the archway. "You're witches, aren't you? Just _reparo_ it."

"They were quite expensive." She folded her arms indignantly.

"So's a cobbler."

"A what?"

Ted burst out laughing, the same deep, hearty sound that had erupted from him on the train three weeks ago. "You… you're something else, you know that?"

"Is than an insult?"

"Only partly."

She resisted the urge to stamp her foot in frustration. The archway was empty now, the staircase to the dungeon unobstructed. She could simply leave him here. He wouldn't be allowed to follow, no matter what magic he'd used to appear behind her just in time to block her path. But if she left, would he feel vindicated, as if he'd won somehow? Would he go back to his tower and gloat to his friends about irritating one of the Black sisters?

No. She couldn't turn her on him and retreat.

"What do you want, Theodore? Out with it."

His grin widened. "It's _Ted_. Theodore was my grandfather and, subsequently, is an old man's name."

"What do you want, _Ted_?" The name felt ridiculous on her tongue, childish.

"I'm glad you asked. It's two things, actually."

"Get on with it."

He crossed his arms as if preparing to negotiate a business deal. "Firstly, we need to talk about your wager."

The wager again. All the fun of seeing so many shocked faces as she put up a hundred galleons on Slytherin's quidditch team had dissipated. Now she felt only annoyance at her stupid decision. "What about it?"

"A hundred galleons is a lot."

"Perhaps for a Muggle-born with no Gringott's account."

His eyes widened; his jaw dropped a little. "And here I thought you were supposed to be the nice one!" The smile returned to his still-shocked face. "I'd say it's a lot for anyone, though. And I feel a need to remind you that there's no backing out."

She felt stung. "I told you before – I've no intention of backing out. I placed a wager and I intend to honor it."

"Aren't you worried?"

"About what?"

"Actually having to pay up."

"No. Why should I be?"

He laughed incredulously. "Haven't you been paying attention? Slytherin's getting a weak start in practices this year. Everyone knows it."

She gave a careless shrug. "I don't concern myself with the sport."

"And yet you made a one hundred galleon wager on a team."

"I have confidence in my house in all matters."

"Including a sport they're shite at?"

She made a move as if to take the stairs. "Your bravado is very…touching, Ted, but as neither you nor I will allow me to rescind my wager, I see you're only here to gloat."

He approached her, almost touching her arm. "You're forgetting the second item of business."

"Which is what?" She felt her annoyance collecting as a blush in her high cheeks.

"The Dragon's Breath. Where'd you get it?"

She blinked and stepped backward, astounded. "The _what_?"

"Rumor has it a couple of bottles showed up down in the dungeon last night, and _you_, Miss Black, look one of them found its way to you."

She stiffened her jaw. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You look like-"

"I know what I look like. I'm tired, that's all."

"You look hungover."

She snorted and glanced downward. "And you look like you could eat less."

"Low blow, Miss Black," he said, laughing and patting his stomach. "I expected something more inventive."

"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you. Now, _if you will kindly leave me alone_, I would like to go to-"

She never finished the sentence. The boy began to disappear, grinning as if he knew something she didn't. His skin became transparent, then his clothes, and as he faded he stepped backward into the wall. He winked a barely visible eye at her. The wall, as if made of clay instead of stone, closed around him. The wall _absorbed_ him.

Andromeda was left alone by the staircase, shaking with anger and wanting to vomit all over again.

* * *

UPDATE 8/19/2011: Next chapter will be posted Saturday instead of Friday.


	7. Chapter 6: Spider

_Chapter 6_

_Spider_

* * *

She was going to confront the boy. She decided this when he disappeared through the walls on Sunday, as she ran down the staircase and into the dungeon, seething. The post-intoxication sickness she'd experienced had nothing on the rage she felt at the boy, _the damnable fool_, _the filthy Mudblood_. He had no right to engage her in this way, to insult her, to treat her like one of his jokes.

Andromeda Black was not a joke, and she would not be made one.

They had two classes together, Advanced Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Keeping to the social circles of their own houses, they had no contact with each other during these classes, but his mere presence in the same room was enough to irritate her. She caught him glancing at her sometimes. Usually he smiled or winked once he knew he'd caught her attention, but she was most disturbed whenever she noticed him watching her with a blank face. Discretely, she touched her hair and face to see if he had somehow hexed her.

She'd seen him watching her once already in today's charms session. He sat close in a huddled group of Gryffindors, taller and broader than most of them. He looked even portlier sitting, she noted, probably from a few too many indulgences at Honeyduke's, or wherever Muggles and their spawn got their food. The Gryffindors were blatantly jotting notes to each other. Probably obscenities, she figured. Their lot knew no other way to communicate. As Professor Flitwick turned in the Gryffindors' direction, the Tonks boy scribbled furiously, pretending to take notes. But as soon as he felt himself unwatched he looked up at her, his mouth pulling into a crooked smile.

Andromeda rolled her eyes and pretended to take her own notes. She gripped the quill hard as if trying to break it.

_Stop it_, she wrote, her letters perfectly spaced and forming a perfectly straight line across the parchment. _Stop it stop it stop it stop it or I will hurt you I will make you regret it leave me alone—_

Andromeda set the quill down, quietly flexed her knuckles, and sighed. She felt slightly better now.

But the boy still stared.

She was going to kill him after class. Sure, she'd go to Azkaban for it, but maybe it was worth it. She'd follow him out, pull him away from his friends, and use the Killing Curse before anyone had time to stop her. She'd never performed the curse before, but she'd seen it done, by her parents, her uncle, and even her older sister. She knew she could manage it if she tried hard enough, if she were angry enough. It was, after all, in her blood.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the boy move again. She turned her head just enough to see him fully, letting the thick veil of her dark hair shield her face from any of her Slytherin classmates. No one had mentioned her public interaction with the boy when she'd placed her bet in over a week, but she couldn't let anyone, _anyone_, see her making any contact with him now. She'd never live down the indignation.

Ted Tonks was still watching her, his head also lowered for discretion's sake. He met her eyes, glanced quickly down at the parchment on his own desk, then back up to her. When she only continued to look at him, her brow furrowed in disdain, he did it again.

_Look_, he mouthed.

Her eyes warily traveled down to her desk. Black ink, _not_ from her quill, appeared on the parchment.

_What are you doing after dinner tonight? _

She gasped and clenched her fist around the paper, crumpling it.

The sound seemed to echo in the classroom. Every pair of eyes trained on her immediately. Professor Flitwick dropped almost dropped his wand. "Is there…a problem, Miss Black?"

She swallowed hard. Across the room, Ted Tonks watched her intently, still holding his quill.

"I…there was a spider." She swallowed again, trying to control her voice.

Flitwick arched a brow. "A spider…"

"Erm. Yes."

"A dangerous one?" His skepticism dragged his brows further up his head.

A few of the others laughed. She could feel the eyes of the other Slytherins boring into her. Her cheeks were burning.

"I'm sorry, sir, I didn't see what kind it was. It, erm, got away."

"Then you won't mind if the rest of us continue with the lesson?"

She hunched down in her seat. "I'm sorry, sir."

Flitwick continued to stare at her moment, then turned his back as he resumed his lecture. Most of the class pretended to pay attention to him, but she knew they were still watching her, still trying to figure out what had really happened. She dared not raise her head to them.

_I'm going to kill you_, she thought, lifting her eyes just enough to glimpse the boy. He looked smug, satisfied. _I'm going to kill you, you piece of filth_.

But how? The Avada Kedavra was too quick and too merciful for him. There were so many other dark curses suited to his crime. She could cause his eyeballs to boil. She could make his spine turn to stone. Or she could try one of the curses her family had devised over the years. Last summer Bellatrix had invented a new way to eviscerate a victim; she'd practiced it on any Muggle pets she found outside their home until the curse was perfected. Andromeda knew the correct pronunciation.

She stood quickly when the great bell announced the end of class. The others swarmed around her. Some would move swiftly downstairs to partake in an early lunch, while others would undoubtedly flood the lawn outside. It was a sunny day, a good day for one's last.

The Gryffindors pushed toward the doorway, the boy at their head. She trailed him but was cut off by the Hufflepuffs. Cursing under her breath, she fought to keep sight of the boy's head and gripped her wand. It wouldn't be so hard. Pride had to be worth whatever punishment was handed down to her. It had to be. If she had learned only one thing from her family it was this.

She stepped through the doorway. Her palm was sweating.

The back of his head would make a fine target. She lifted the wand from the pocket of her robes. Her sister's curse formed on her tongue.

"Is something wrong, Andromeda?"

Flora touched her arm lightly. Her dark eyes were large with concern.

Andromeda shook her head and shoved her hand into her pocket. Up ahead, Ted Tonks and his friends disappeared around a corner.

"I'm fine," Andromeda said. "Just trying to remember something."

Flora smiled suggestively. "Sounds interesting."

"Not really."

The bell rang again. Relinquishing her hold on her wand and any hope of making the boy pay for humiliating her, Andromeda realized she was late for a meeting with Slughorn.

* * *

The walls of Horace Slughorn's office were lined with photographs – himself with two Ministers of Magic, himself with the Hogwarts staff, himself alone with Dumbledore, himself posing happily with famous and accomplished wizards and witches. The vast majority of the photographs, however, were of him posing behind the Slug Club, the group of handpicked students who had become Slughorn's pet project during the school year.

Entrance into the Slug Club was invitation-only. Though the club mostly comprised students from affluent families, it at least had the pretense of a meritocracy, including older students who had tested into Advanced Potions and others who had proven themselves exceptionally talented at the school. She recognized those who had come from the older pureblood families, though she'd met some of them only once before. Others were familiar faces from among her own classmates. Lucius Malfoy, though never all that interested in potions, had been invited to the Slug Club halfway through his first year. His long face and pale hair shone in several pictures. His eyes always moved from his left side to the camera, as if he had just noticed his picture was being taken. The gesture, though deliberate, gave him an air of indifference, as if nothing at all in the scene mattered to him. He was an accidental Narcissus, moving only to catch his reflection in a camera lens.

Of the Black sisters, only Bellatrix had become a member of the Slug Club. Narcissa's interest and ability potions began and ended with the art's potential usefulness in her beauty regimen. She couldn't be bothered to attend the club's meetings, though she had graced Lucius's arm for one or two social events. Andromeda herself was only mediocre at the art, and her stern, withdrawn personality prevented Slughorn from taking much of an interest in her. He'd gotten the member of the family he wanted.

Like Lucius, Bella had been invited to Slughorn's pet club during her first year at Hogwarts. The invitation had been issued based on her family connections, but Bella soon excelled at potions. Every subtle wand flick moved through her wrist easily. She could measure exact amounts of ingredients by sight alone. Her impatience proved her only real hindrance in the field, but even her mistakes earned her high marks. By the end of her third year she had been honored by the school for her ability. By the end of her fourth year, she had successfully concocted an elixir that would turn the drinker's lungs to paper. Her week of detentions for giving the potion to a stray cat in Hogsmeade were served with Slughorn, who was still unable to see past his admiration for her ability and her family name.

She remembered Bella coming back to the dormitories after those detentions, looking as if she hadn't been chastised at all. Maybe she hadn't been. Slughorn, the cowardly fool, was probably too afraid of her to actually discipline her. While Bella had, as far as Andromeda knew, never harmed a teacher, it was unlikely that Slughorn would volunteer to test her on the issue. And the Blacks weren't a family he would ever want to make angry. It was the Headmaster who'd found out what Bella did to the cat, having heard it from a witch in Hogsmeade, and it was he who had spoken privately to her and imposed the detentions with the head of Slytherin upon her. If Dumbledore couldn't be bothered to take a firmer hand with Bella, Slughorn must have been useless.

In any event, they must not have considered what Bella did to the cat all that serious, for there was no talk of sending her away from the school and she continued to win top honors, earning a tall engraved cup in the school's trophy room last year.

Andromeda settled into the plush chair in front of Slughorn's desk, her sister's dark eyes watching her on every side. She didn't know what was more awkward, having Bella's photographs staring at her or knowing that Slughorn, much as he admired the old purebloods, was indifferent to her.

_Would he be impressed if he knew she had, only minutes ago, plotted to kill a student_?

"A cup of tea, Andromeda?" he asked, his full cheeks shining as he smiled. The smile meant nothing. Horace Slughorn smiled at everyone.

She folded her hands in her lap. "No, thank you, sir." _Stare straight ahead. Keep your back rigid. Don't look at Bella. Don't, under any circumstances, look at the picture in which she smiles at the camera. Hold your head up. Look like a Black_.

"You won't mind, of course, if I have one…"

"Not a bit, sir."

He busied himself at his kettle, lifting nothing on his own but instead using his wand to direct the small scene. The kettle boiled. When the steam whistled from its spout, it picked itself up and tipped over into a cup. "A touch of honey," Slughorn said, stirring a dab of amber into the cup.

She said nothing. She knew he hadn't arranged a meeting with her to discuss tea.

Slughorn settled back into his desk, his large stomach filling the gap between the chair and the table. "I suppose you know why I've called you here."

"Career advice."

A light chuckle. Even at his age, there was still something boyish about him, something, she thought, unbecoming of a Slytherin. "You might think of it as 'advanced career advice,' if you will, erm, career advice _part deux_."

She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. Though her blood had cooled since charms class, her anger sat in the pit of her stomach, ready to return at any moment.

Slughorn shifted in his chair, discomforted by her silence. "Miss Black, have you, erm, decided on any plans following your graduation from Hogwarts?"

Was he asking because he didn't want her to waste away in a pureblood mansion somewhere, or because he wanted to hedge his bets in case she suddenly proved a vital social connection?

"I'll be taking time off. Probably on holiday. Maybe…Romania."

He looked down his glasses at her. "Romania." He sipped his tea. "I ask because, well, as I'm sure you understand, Hogwarts is committed to its students even after they've finished their studies here. We like to know that each one is, erm, looking forward to their future outside the school."

She could have laughed at him. His attempt to disguise his own interest in what a pureblood student intended to do after school was, she thought, appropriately disguised, but coming from him, it sounded utterly ridiculous. Slughorn couldn't have cared less about the students who, lacking family wealth or great talent, weren't likely to have exciting career or social prospects. Merlin only knew how many of the school's past students had simply disappeared after they left campus for the last time, their names quickly forgotten by the faculty.

"I don't have an occupation in mind," she said.

"Nor is one necessary for your family, if I understand it correctly."

"Yes." What else did he expect her to say to that? _No, the Blacks are far richer than you can imagine? Our vaults at Gringott's are enormous and piled floor-to-ceiling with gold? We could each go the rest of our lives without ever lifting a finger to work and never suffer a single hungry night?_

Slughorn frowned, his eyes peering down into his teacup. He was searching, she knew, for a tasteful way to determine her plans. "Your sister," he said finally, then frowned again.

"Bellatrix?"

His face softened. "Yes, dear Bellatrix, she's…engaged to be married, yes? And soon, if I remember correctly."

"To Rodolphus Lestrange. The wedding is in December."

"Rodolphus!" he cried happily. "Did you know I've taught two generations of Lestranges? Rodolphus and his brother, of course, and then their father, and the uncles…and there was a sister in there somewhere, I believe, or another cousin, or…in any event, Rabastan and Bellatrix are a fine match-"

"Rodolphus."

"—Rodolphus, right, and I hope they send a third generation along for me before I get too old." He chuckled happily to himself, as if he had only positive memories of Bella, and, respectively, the Lestrange family. He finished his tea and spent a minute or two examining the bottom of his empty cup.

"Sir?" Andromeda prompted.

"Hmm? Oh, right. Have you any, erm, similar prospects?"

"Are you asking if I'm 'romantically involved?'"

"I suppose so."

She straightened her back once more. "Those matters are usually left to the family as a whole."

Slughorn simply stared at her.

"…and currently, neither my parents nor my uncle have selected a suitable match for me." Did she sound too clinical? Not that it mattered, really. Even Bellatrix still sometimes referred to her fiancé as "Lestrange" instead of his given name, and Andromeda couldn't think of an instance in which she'd seen any physical affection between the two. Marriage for the Blacks, as it was for many of the old pureblood families, was a social and economic affair, not a romantic one. Slughorn had to know that.

And yet he sighed. "Miss Black. _Andromeda_. I only ask because, as I'm sure you know, the world has become…a somewhat dangerous place. Even for…families such as yours."

"You mean the Dark L-"

"I only want to make sure that, well, that everyone has been _looked out for_."

She narrowed her eyes and rolled up her sleeve, presenting her left forearm to him. "There is no mark on my wrist, nor any of my family's. And if that's all you wanted to know, sir, I think our business is concluded."

Slughorn favored her with an uncomfortable smile. "Right as always, Andromeda. Do give my regards to your sister when you see her next. She was—_is_—a very talented young woman."

_She was the one who used to raid your private potions collection_, Andromeda thought, and nodding curtly to the man, she rose to leave his office. Her very bones ached with the desire to destroy something. On her way out she accidentally crushed a spider underfoot.

* * *

**Notes**: Working off of Dumbledore's remark in _Deathly Hallows_, I love the idea of people who feel uncomfortable with Bella referring to her as "dear Bellatrix," so I've used it here.

The next chapter will be posted outside of my usual schedule, as I have a wedding to go this coming weekend that will take up most of Friday through Sunday. However, you might be pleased to know that in the next chapter, hostile feelings between Slytherin and Gryffindor will results in an ugly situation and Andromeda will finally confront Ted.


End file.
